Sherlock Holmes and The Pocket Watch Murders
by Forgotten Phoenix
Summary: Holmes gets involved in a series of peculiar murders that draw him into a quick and dangerous series of events that threaten to destroy his career and possibly even his life, when he encounters a series of characters who are more than they seem...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Something Truly Remarkable**

There has not been many a mystery that has proven to be so complex as to have its answer elude the remarkable and observant Mr Sherlock Holmes. The primary professional in his field and the most singularly gifted detective of his generation, Sherlock Holmes has proven the impossible and disproved the certain. Although from time to time it seemed the success of his methods would be a close thing, he has almost always won through to reveal the secret truth from underneath the dark pall of confusion. But even the greatest detective in Europe is not a picture of perfection as regards to his methods. In many of my previous accounts of Holmes's amazing skills of deduction, as Holmes himself has told me, I have often alluded to these celebrated skills as being infallible. In doing this I feel that perhaps my previous commentaries of Baker Street happenings have perhaps not done him justice, for, as we were to discover, it takes considerably more than deductive skills to solve a mysterious crime such as that of the pocket watch incident. It is of this very case that I wish to speak of to you in this narrative as not only does it prove that Holmes is more than a deducting machine but simultaneously it highlights the enormity of his intellect and the strength of his determination. Holmes's deductions are not often wrong or incomplete, but when they are, his other equally remarkable traits that fall into place in order to produce a result of the first class. Every single time.

It is a well-known fact that Holmes has always taken a delight in cases of a challenging and remarkable nature. During the years that I have now spent chronicling his exploits I have seen cases of blackmail, murder, counterfeit, robbery, scandalous marriage, trickery and many, many other types to match and differ with each and every other one of these. But of all of these cases I can remember no other that took a similar form to that of the pocket watch murders.

It all started at Baker Street, when I was still lodging with Holmes, in our younger days. The day had been a grey one, rain coming down in sheets from the heavens and making all the world seem much as if it had been painted into existence by Monet. Thick grey clouds blocked every inch of the sky consequently making London's streets prematurely dark and furnishing them with a fittingly gloomy air. As I glanced out of the window into the street I could not help but feel oddly affected by the weather. It seemed that there was nothing to do in life but to see the fat raindrops slide down the panes outside and listen half-heartedly to the ticking of the clock upon the mantle. Holmes and I had been sat in the study for almost two and a quarters hours, and though I am a man of what has been called great patience, the lack of anything much to do was beginning to ware upon me, yet Holmes seemed in no way effected as he normally would have been. There were no cases, and it seemed there were none likely for some time either. He had recently cleared up a rather regular burglary for an elderly client by the name of Mrs Robertson but since that case, which Holmes had described as 'rather uninspiring' (and had I not been afraid of insulting Mrs Robertson, I would have most likely described in a similar fashion), nothing had come up. It was unusual for Holmes to be so relaxed about having no good cases in which to exercise his talents, and though I was not worried about that in itself, the reversal of attitudes between Holmes and myself was beginning to be a cause of irritation to me. And it was that irritation that finally began the conversation that would eventually lead us into the remarkable adventure of which I am writing.

"How can you stand it Holmes?" I finally exclaimed after another half an hour of complete silence and inactivity. "There is nothing going on in the criminal world of London and yet you show no signs of your normal agitation!" A slight smile raised a corner of my friend's lips as he listened to my outburst; evidently our role reversal was amusing to him.

"My dear Watson, there is always something going on in the criminal world." He smiled again and leant further back into his chair, "However I understand what you mean. Business has been a little slow during the past few days has it not."

"It is probably this repulsive weather." I replied with a slight shrug. "Few people, regardless of their troubles, would see fit to venture out in that."

"The weather has very little to do with it I'm afraid, my guess should be that the intelligent criminals that we so often spar with are in their planning stages." He stood then, and took some tobacco from the slipper upon the mantle, lighting his pipe soon afterward. "Something will come our way soon Watson. But until then there is little point becoming agitated over the matter. Cases are like wine my good fellow, they are all the better when fully matured and ready." I nodded in approval of Holmes's opinion but I still could not help but let a sigh escape from between my lips. However, thankfully, my agitation would not last for long, as the very case that Holmes had earlier predicted was on our doorstep within the hour.

Asher Marks was a handsome gentleman with black hair, startling green eyes and a bone structure that many men would be envious of. He stood at about Holmes's height and his sharp features and sparkling eyes made him one of the most handsome men I had ever met. Marks was only just twenty-five or so and it was his inexperience and youth that brought me to look after him, he constantly seemed out of his depth throughout the duration of the case, and though I have never really been a fatherly kind of man I could not help but feel sorry for him in his situation. It would only have someone entirely heartless who could have ignored his plight at any rate.

The bell rang at a quarter past seven that evening and I must admit it came to me as a relief. My friend did not seem remotely excited by the prospect and simply extinguished his pipe and sat up a little in his chair. But having known him so long I could recognise that he was considerably more alert than he had previously been and that the prospect of a new case was indeed attractive to him. I remember now that the young gentleman had elected to send his card up to us as an introduction. As Mrs Hudson placed the card in Holmes's hand and left the room I could see the consulting detective's eyes flashing over the card and taking in its details. After a moment he passed it to me with a fractional smile,

"Alright then Watson, what do you make of it?" He asked with an air of smug amusement that always radiated from him when he asked such questions. I quickly looked over the card and then read it aloud,

"Mr A. Marks, 132 Half Moon Street, London" I paused and looked up at Holmes once more, "But my dear fellow there is little to be deducted from this, all that we can tell is that he is not in financial trouble."

"Ah, but Watson how wrong you are." Holmes leant to take the card off me and I happily let him have it. After all it would be much more useful in his hands than in mine. Holmes leant back in his chair and held the card between his index and ring finger.

"This card is sent to us by a man from a good family, as you managed to deduct for yourself, however what you failed to see was that he is also a man who is popular and up to date with society's fashions. He is a good dresser and is soon to be married." For the thousandth time my face was a picture of incredulity, however my questions were answered before they were asked. "Evidently he is from a good family as he lives in an upmarket part of London and has money to invest in hand designed business cards. We can tell that he is popular, as he puts no reference upon his card; there is nothing to say whose son he is or what he does as a living. This shows that most people who receive his cards already know from whom it was sent." There was a pause here and then Holmes continued, spinning the card between his forefinger and thumb. "He is obviously up to date with London's fashions as not only does his card support the new 'tiger-claw and lily' designs that have become so recently popular, but also his house in Half-Moon Street is placed upon the fashionable side. This deduction naturally leads on to him being a good dresser, as he is aware of what is fashionable and we can guess that he soon to be married through the knowledge of where these cards were made. These cards are from Summerton's, the biggest single maker of personal business cards: and wedding invitations." I let a sigh escape me and I slouched back into my chair. Every time he explained it the reasoning seemed to get simpler and simpler yet I could never see it for myself.

"Yes Holmes, I see it now." I replied, "It is so…" I was about to continue when I was interrupted by the door to the study opening to reveal Mrs Hudson,

"Mr Asher Marks to see you Mr Holmes."

At first I was a little taken a-back by Mr Marks's appearance, so sharp was his sense of dress, it seemed as if he walked straight out of one of the period's fashion plates. Mr Marks was, as Holmes had deduced, a very well dressed man, every inch of his appearance meticulously maintained and thought about. There was not a single crease anywhere on his person and his shoes sparkled, even though he had walked at least some way in order to reach our Baker Street rooms.

"Mr Marks." Holmes greeted our client politely, "A pleasure to meet you."

"I would return the sentiment, however my reasons for making your acquaintance are of the gravest form." A sad smile slid over Mr Marks's lips for a moment.

"You are soon to be married are you not?" Holmes asked, looking at me for a moment and then back to our client, "Congratulations." Normally when Holmes springs his deductions upon people who are not used to them they are surprised, though when this fact was revealed to Mr Marks he did not seem in the least shocked by it.  
"Yes Mr Holmes, I am, though there is no cause for congratulation just yet." Mr Marks sat down in a chair that Holmes had just gestured to and then continued, "It is my impending marriage that requires that I engage your services Mr Holmes."

"Indeed." Holmes replied, leaning back a little further into his chair and threading his fingers together into a sort of lattice. "Would you care to tell me the facts so that I may help you come to a satisfactory conclusion?"

"It would be a blessing to get it all off of my chest." Asher Marks nodded and then began.

"It all started yesterday morning. My fiancé, a Miss Verona Wright, and I were walking in Grosvenor Square as we often do on nice mornings, when we heard someone running up behind us and we turned to find out whom it was who wished so desperately to speak with us. As it turned out it was Miss Wright's housekeeper, Mrs Clark. You see Verona lives on Upper Grosvenor Street and Mrs Clark had run to catch up with us. On reaching us I remember asking her

"What on earth is the matter Mrs Clark? Is something wrong?" She was as pale as if she had seen a ghost and her hands were shaking, so upset was she by what she had just seen.

"Oh, oh Mr Marks!" She cried, "Come back to the house, quick Sir!"

"What is it Mrs Clark?" Verona then asked, "What is wrong, what has happened?" At that point Mrs Clark grabbed at Verona's hand and tried to pull her back toward the house,

"It is your Mother Miss Wright," She cried, "She is dead!" For a moment I thought for all the world that Verona was going to faint but she is a remarkably strong woman and she did not. However, she did appear shocked by the revelation, as was I, but you know how women are effected by such matters. At any rate I left Mrs Clark with Verona and then I ran back toward the house. Three minutes later, just past eight in the morning, I arrived at the door of Verona's house and threw open the door, running inside. It was immediately apparent that Mrs Wright had been murdered in the living room, as there was a great crowd of staff already there. I quickly cleared them aside and rushed in. Yet this is where the whole thing becomes peculiar. There was no blood and her face was contorted in a horrible manner as if she had been left gasping for breath and in terrible pain. The police arrived ten minutes later due to the message sent by Marcus the footman and naturally cleared the area so that I could see no more. But Mr Holmes the police have had little luck, and my dear Verona is afraid, I can tell, though she will not say it due to a stubborn nature. Mrs Wright had no enemies Mr Holmes and she was, in fact, a perfect angel. The police can find no motive that anyone would have to kill her and so I decided to turn to you. I am afraid that Verona will call off the wedding if the killer is not found soon. We need your help."

Holmes paused for a moment once the narrative had been told and leant forwards in his chair, his finger forming a steeple which he looked through at Mr Marks.

"I have a few questions to ask you Mr Marks in order to develop a full view of the case." Mr Marks nodded his assent and Holmes began, "Is there a Mr Wright?"

"Yes, yes, he works at the Bank of England."

"Where was he at the time of Mrs Wright's murder?"

"He was working Mr Holmes, the bank opens at six and he goes to work at that hour every morning."

"Is your walk with Miss Wright a regular occurrence?"

"No, it was just on that day that the urge seized us, I was after all a beautiful morning."

"Did you tell anyone that you were leaving the house that morning?" Holmes asked taking out his notebook and scribbling a few details down in it.

"I remember that we told Mrs Clark and Agnes, one of the kitchen staff. But they have both been working at the house for quite some time."

"Indeed." Holmes paused again, "You do not live with the Wrights Mr Marks, yet you seem to know their routine very well. How long, may I ask, have you been courting Miss Wright?"

"A few months Mr Holmes," Mr Marks replied. Holmes closed his notebook,

"Thank you Mr Marks. I will look further into this case shortly." Mr Marks nodded and then stood up.

"Thanks to you as well Mr Holmes." He was about to leave when he stopped for a moment and then turned around, "Do you think Sir, that there will be any chance of you catching Mrs Wright's murderer? I merely ask so as I will know whether to be positive or not to Verona." Holmes nodded,

"I do not want to give you any false hope at present Mr Marks." He replied, "But I can promise you and Miss Wright that I shall do my very best."

When Mr Marks had left Holmes and I sat, once again, in silence for a few moments.

"So, what do you make of it Watson?" He asked me at last.

"Very little I'm afraid." I replied with a slight shrug, "After all we know so very little."

"Indeed." Holmes replied with a slight sigh, "That is the greatest problem. Mr Marks's narrative was by no means comprehensive." After another moment he reached into his pocket and took out a silver pocket watch and looked at the time, before slipping it back into its rightful place. "Well then Watson, I do think a trip to the yard is in order." With that he stood and seized his coat from the chair where it had been dumped the last time. "Let us delve a little and see what we can find out." With a smile I complied and picked up my hat off the hat stand,

"What do you think to this business?" I asked at last as we stepped down the stairs and out into the street.

"I think it might prove more interesting that it currently appears Watson." He smiled in that way that made me think that he had formed more opinions than he was going to express. "In fact," He whistled loudly for a handsome and a moment later one was stood in front of us harnessed up to one of London's many chestnut mares, "I do believe that it may turn out to be something truly remarkable!"

Author's Notes

Well then, what do you think? I would love to know how you feel about this story so far. The next chapter is on its way as we speak so you shouldn't have to wait too long. Constructive critisim is always welcome though it can not be promised to be taken into account. Encouragement is what drives me forward so please, please REVIEW! Thanks guys, hope to put up chapter two within the week!

FB


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2- A Twist of Suspicion

There was havoc at the Yard as there always was. Police ran around coming in and going out of the door that we were trying to enter, inside there were various people rushing about with large stacks of papers and books. Messengers bustled about and sat waiting for their messages to be heard and there was the noise of telegraphs flowing back and forth.

"Ah, ever the centre of organisation and cleanliness." Holmes said to me a little under his breath. We had to wait a minute or two before we could pass through into the yard itself but we made it eventually. As soon as we stepped in Holmes was recognised,

"Mr Holmes!" A sergeant rushed up to us, "Mr Sherlock Holmes, I was just about to catch a handsome and find you Sir!"

"Lestrade has been asking for me then has he Lewis?" He asked, a slight glint of satisfaction in his stony grey eyes.

"Why yes Sir, yes he has." There was a pause whilst the sergeant tried to work out how Holmes could possibly know of this, "If you'd come with me Mr Holmes and you too Dr Watson, he'd like to see you immediately." Lewis was not a sergeant that I had met before and on a quick study of him I could not imagine why. He was a tall man of a slim yet muscled stature, though he did not appear to be as sharp mentally as Lestrade or Gregson he seemed to be unfazed by Holmes's methods, as if he perhaps even understood them. As we began to walk I deducted that he was obviously one of the recently transferred personnel, though I could never be sure and so tucked the piece of information away in my brain to ask Holmes about at a later date.

We were shown through to another room in which we could see Lestrade poring over a map on the back wall. When the door was closed behind us he turned around and a look of relief flooded over his features.

"Ah, Mr Holmes, that was quick! I only sent Johnson for you a second ago!" He took a seat by the map and gestured for us to do the same.

"We were on our way to you anyway," Holmes replied and I nodded a little, looking intently at the map on the wall in front of us. "It's about the murder of Mrs Wright."

"Really, so Asher Marks has already been to see you. He said he might. Clever chap that Mr Marks." Lestrade rocked back in his chair and then spoke again, "So, what have you come here to get then?"

"I've come to see the autopsy results." Holmes replied, not put off by Lestrade's demanding tone.

"Wouldn't you rather see the body yourself?" Lestrade replied nonchalantly. "It has not been moved."

"Yes, that would be preferable." Holmes replied, a spark of excitement igniting in his eyes. "Is it possible to go there at once."

"I'm sure I could arrange it." Lestrade replied, stood and walked to the door. "Well gentlemen?"

Quarter of an hour later we were in front of the house where the murder had taken place. A few police were guarding the door but other than that there seemed to be very little activity-taking place. We walked up the front steps and through the front door quickly, the area seeming to hold little interest for Holmes as far as a deduction was concerned. The hall, however, was a different matter. The hallway's floor was made of marble, and all over it were footprints. Footprints of policemen, maids, kitchen staff and no doubt the footprints of the murderer also. For a Holmes that familiar anger flashed in Holmes's eyes and I could tell that he was irritated by the destruction of such an important piece of evidence, yet he said nothing, instead looking very closely at the footprints closest to the door through to the living room.

We waited for five or so minutes whilst he rushed about in the hall examining various aspects of it and then he stopped and turned to us.

"Shall we look into the living room itself gentlemen?" I nodded and Lestrade let out a sigh that could be plainly read as one of impatience. The living room of the house was a majestically decorated place. The walls were resplendent in wine red and gold whilst the bottom half of the walls was covered in dark wooden panels. The furniture matched the walls and was red with dark wooden trimmings, occasionally splashed with gold. However the elegance of the décor was horribly counteracted by the corpse of a beautiful woman in the centre of the floor. Holmes walked slowly over to her, looking at first at the area directly surrounding her, and then at the woman herself. Her eyes were wide open, staring ahead of her in a horrified final survey of the world. Her hands, now rigid from the onset of rigor mortis, were clasped about her throat in a way to indicate gagging and coughing. Holmes continued to look at the body for a moment and then leant over the woman's horrifically contorted face, where he looked closely at the inside of her throat and then paused to smell her lips. When done he nodded slowly to himself and stood. In between his index and forefingers dangled a golden pocket watch.

His survey of the rest of the room was quick and methodical, his movements only hampered by the occasional stop to measure a distance or scribble something down in his notepad. When he was done he walked over to us and told us of his discoveries,

"Mrs Wright," He gestured to the body behind him, "Was poisoned with '_Aconitum Napellus'_" He informed us. For a moment I must have looked a little blank, my Latin not being what it once. "That's monkshood, blue rocket or aconite to you Watson."

"Well we knew that from the post-mortem." Lestrade replied impatiently.

"Ah," Replied Holmes calmly, "But did you know that she was poisoned by a man with a gentle touch, charming nature, being about oh…" He paused and looked at the floor once again, "Five foot ten and weighing approximately 162 pounds." Lestrade stood for a moment with his eyebrow fractionally raised, but he said nothing. "I suggest you collect together the house staff so that we can have a look at them all." Lestrade nodded and walked out to see to it.

"Remarkable Holmes!" I laughed, "No doubt you worked that all out from the footprints?"

"Yes, but the drinks case helped a lot." He gestured to the cabinet in the corner that contained a few containers and bottles of various alcoholic beverages. "It was in that wine that you see on the second shelf that the Aconite was concealed. A white Bordeaux called Loupiac." A smile flitted over his lips for a moment, "It regularly astounds me how much Lestrade fails to see in cases such as these." I was about to reply, but I was cut off as several policemen rushed past the door. Holmes seemed about to question that fiasco when Lestrade quickly came back into the room.

"We've found a suspect Holmes! The butler, a Mr Dorian Brown, he fits the description and was the last person seen with Mrs Wright. He served her a drink that we have deduced must have contained the poison. On top of that, the gardner now recalls that he did ask to see the poison garden that morning." He paused for a moment, "One of the maids, A Miss Louise Nixon can verify that she saw him pouring Mrs Wright a drink ten minutes before her body was found." He smiled, "It's over Holmes, another one done with in a mere moment." Then, he turned on his heel and left the room. I turned to Holmes,

"Well, that's it then." I smiled and shrugged, "Not something remarkable at all then."

"No," He replied quietly. "It would seem not." However as Holmes said it I remember there being something in his voice, as if he did not quite believe that the whole thing could not be that simple. Of course I had forgotten the pocket watch. I should really have queried him upon the point but it is not in my nature to push Holmes into saying things he does not wish to divulge. But it could have saved both of us a lot of trouble.

The very next day it began to become extremely apparent that the case was much more than we had ever given it credit for. It was about 9 O'clock and the night was a particularly horrid one, the smog that London had become famous for through out Europe was covering the streets and one could hardly see clearly enough to see one's hand in front one's face. Rain spattered down from the heavens and darkness had already descended. But the weather has never been something to throw Holmes off a scent, and over the duration of the day he had been given a fresh one to follow. At 6 O'clock that same evening a gentleman had come to us complaining of burglary. His house on Irving Street had had an unusual break in. From what the client had told us the thief had broken in solely to destroy the client's collection of photographs picturing the royal family of Germany. Naturally Holmes had snapped up the case and headed to Irving Street almost immediately.

The clock was chiming half nine when Mrs Hudson knocked on the door and entered into the study.

"Inspector Lestrade." She announced and then quickly ducked out of the door. Lestrade came in quickly and glanced about with nervous energy, evidently something bad had happened and he was in our rooms in order to ask for advice.

"Dr Watson!" He exclaimed at last, once he had carefully checked the room for the presence of Holmes, "Where is Holmes? I came to get him myself since I was in the neighbourhood, there is a stir that I'd like him to look into." I looked at Lestrade calmly for a moment and then spoke,

"Do you want to sit down until Holmes comes back?" I asked, "He's gone out to Irving Street." Lestrade's reaction was positively remarkable.

"Irving Street!" He exclaimed, striding to the window "Good Lord but it's impossible, he couldn't have pre-empted it could he?" Lestrade paused and then turned his ferret like features toward me once more, "Did he say why he was going?"

"He got a case down there. A burglary." I replied, suddenly a little afraid of what Holmes had gotten into. "Why, what else has happened on Irving Street?" I asked, my throat suddenly a little dry.

"Someone has reported a murder." My eyes must have widened a little as Lestrade reacted accordingly, "We must go at once. When did Holmes leave?" For a moment I thought myself barely able to answer, but eventually I rasped out a response,

"Half past six."

"Plenty of time for him to be back in." Lestrade said under his breath and wrote something in his notebook. "Are you coming Dr Watson?" I nodded numbly and I vaguely remember following Lestrade down the stairs and getting into a handsome that he had hailed over to us.

Half an hour later our handsome pulled into Irving Street and we sprang out of it. There were already quite a few policemen on the scene, but I could see Holmes no-where and for a moment it flickered through my mind that he might be on his way to Baker Street at that very moment. But that was not the case. A sergeant came over to us within a few seconds of our getting out of the handsome.

"Sergeant Lewis." He introduced himself briefly, though we had met before, "Inspector Lestrade, we have determined that the body is that of a Mr Marcus Wright of Upper Grosvenor Street." In that moment I felt two emotions, one of relief and another of bewilderment.

"A Mr Wright?" I asked quietly, "From Upper Grosvenor Street?"

"Yes…" Sergeant Lewis replied, "Mr…"

"Dr Watson." I corrected half-heartedly.

"Dr Watson?" Lewis asked, "Oh, Mr Sherlock Holmes asked to see you when you arrived. Come with me sir." I nodded and walked after the police officer through the crowd of police that were milling about the scene. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a corpse lying on the road. It was that of a man, about fifty years old or so, and well dressed, I knew immediately that it was Mr Wright and a shudder ran down my spine when it crossed my mind that under our watch Miss Verona Wright had become an orphan.

It wasn't difficult to spot Holmes. He looked quite annoyed and there was a look on his face that was bordering on petulance, not to mention the fact that he was covered in blood.

"Holmes!" I cried and walked to him, "What on earth has happened?"

"Mr Wright has been murdered and I have been asked to leave the crime scene, that is what has happened Watson." He leant a little harder against the wall that he was using to support his weight and he crossed his arms in the universal sign of annoyance.

"Why on earth have they told you to leave the crime scene? Are you hurt?" I asked, a little shocked. Holmes had never been asked to leave anything as far as I could remember, especially not a crime scene, a place where he was in his element.

"I am apparently too close to the whole thing." He rolled his eyes as he said it.

"What happened Holmes?" I asked again, curiosity was burning inside of me by then, what with the crime scene directly behind us.

"Well Watson, as you know I was looking into a case here but when I arrived there was nobody here. I waited for an hour or two but eventually I gave up. I was on my way to hail a handsome when suddenly I heard someone screaming. I ran up the street to see what was going on and I saw a man running off. I chased after him for a while but in this smog he was gone even before I'd turned the corner." He paused at this point and took one of his hands out of his pockets; it was wrapped in bandage. "I headed back to the scene of the crime, though I knew that Wright was dead. I checked over the body. It was a stab wound as I had suspected and though I know a little on how to stop bleeding I was well out of my depth and the man was dead in moments. Hence the blood." He gestured to his clothes that were smeared in the ruby liquid.

"But what of your hand Holmes?" I asked a little concerned at the injury to my friend. However my concern was replaced by suspicion a moment later.

"I….I was looking over the body when the police found me, Mr Wright was carrying a pocket knife that I was inspecting and when I heard someone yelling at me my hand slipped" He shrugged, evidently back in control "Harmless really; and very careless." I, however was not convinced. I knew Holmes was lying to me. He had hesitated. But why would he lie? For a moment I thought about it but I could come up with no reason that he would lie to me, of all people, about his own health, especially when you knew that I would be able to read through his lie as if it had been made of glass. I made a mental note to ask him what had really happened when sergeant Lewis was no longer in earshot, and then put the whole thing out of my mind. If Holmes was lying he probably had a very good reason to do so, after all, he always did.

Holmes sighed. "I just wish Lestrade would hurry up and clear me as more than a simple on-looker." A few moments later his wish was granted. Lestrade walked over to us and looked to Holmes,

"You were lucky to be here." He replied, "You probably would have caught the chap had it not been for this blasted smog." Lestrade shrugged a little and a small smile of smug satisfaction curled the edge of his lips. Sometimes I found the rivalry between the two men unbearable, and the jibe at Holmes's lack of success was one of those many times in which I felt anger burn in my stomach at Lestrade's ungrateful nature. "I've talked to the men here and you are quite welcome to go and look at the scene now if you would like." For a moment I though Holmes might refuse, so black was the look upon his face. But the sparkle of action was back in his eye in a second and in a flash he was gone in the direction of the scene.

Holmes's look over the body was brief, after all he seen it before and had been there in the man's dying moments. His carotid artery had been cleanly slit and there was a disturbing amount of blood pooled underneath him. However on the sight of the man's injury a small wave of relief rushed over me, at least Holmes had made the correct decision in chasing after the man and could not be held responsible for Mr Wright's death. After all there was no way that Holmes could have saved him and evidently my friend had been well aware of the fact. Although Holmes's look over the corpse of Mr Wright was quick his survey of the surrounding area was remarkably thorough, I hadn't thought that he would need to look so closely since he had actually seen the man, but Holmes was not one to be shoddy over his work and so it was that we waited for an hour as he carefully examined the entire scene of the crime and several of the connecting alleyways. By the time that he had finished most of the policemen had been discharged and only our trio and the ever-present sergeant Lewis remained to hear his verdict.

"It is the same man." He replied factually, "Five foot ten, 162 pounds, lashings of charm and a gentle touch."

"A gentle touch?" Lestrade asked in amazement, "He slashed the man's neck Holmes!"

"Ah, but Lestrade," my friend smiled slightly, "Look at the precision of this cut, and more importantly look at the size." He gestured to the victim's neck, "This cut was quick, clean and very small. Anywhere else on the body it would have been simply a scratch, but this man has done his research." Holmes paused to emphasise what he was saying, "We can see from the direction and depth of the cut that the attack took place whilst the victim was walking. The cut is length ways, which would be a clumsy way to slit the throat had the murderer had his victim sitting still or lying down, no the murderer and Mr Wright were walking together and the murderer was on the left. The murderer was talking to Mr Wright and then pulled out the murder weapon and made a quick cut to the victim's neck. Mr Wright probably would not even have noticed for a second or two, in which time the murderer left his signature," Holmes paused and produced a pocket watch from his pocket, once again made of gold, "But then the victim realised and put his hands to his neck where they came away covered in blood. It was at this point that he screamed and I came running. By the time that I had reached him he had lost enormous amounts of blood and had collapsed, the murderer, knowing that he had been clumsy enough to let his victim scream, began to run and I followed." He paused again to look at Lestrade, "You know the rest." Lestrade looked unconvinced for a moment,

"Are you sure it is the same man?" He asked, "We have the butler in custody."

"Then I suggest that you free him immediately." Holmes replied, "Yes, these two murders were committed by the same man, of that we can be sure." He turned to me, then to Lewis and then back to Lestrade, as if gauging our reactions, "It is important to remember that although a murder's modus operandi may change his signature is always the same. Our murderer is not a man of angry violence; he is a man of class, charm and delicacy. Our murderer does not want blood on his cuffs and he does not want to ruin his shoes by having to make mad dashes like he did tonight. This man is a gentleman of the highest standard." Lestrade seemed to pale at that, the idea of arresting someone of the upper classes was obviously something that he was not happy with. After all a large part of his job was resting upon his reputation.

"Then where should we begin Holmes? Research possible enemies of the family? Seek out all young noblemen who are 162 pounds and five foot ten in height?" Lestrade was evidently grasping at straws and Holmes quickly put him out of his misery,

"Class, charm and delicacy are not traits limited to nobles Lestrade." He replied, "I suggest the former, and in the meantime I have some other trails to follow." With that he looked to me and I nodded slightly.

"Right then." Lestrade replied, a little more encouraged by Holmes's first comment. "Sergeant Lewis and I will get someone to take Mr Wright to the mortuary and then we'll head back to the yard then. May I pass by Baker Street tomorrow evening?"

"Yes, tomorrow evening we'll meet and compare results." Holmes replied. "Until then gentlemen." He bowed his head slightly as a goodbye and then began to walk up Irving Street toward the nearest main road where we could hail a handsome. I followed quickly.

His lie was still tugging at my curiosity but I restrained myself from asking about it. Holmes was always keeping secrets and this one was probably no different. But why was it so badly covered up? Holmes was a master weaver of lies and deceptions, much as he was a master of untangling them. As I climbed into the handsome next to him a twist of suspicion crept into the back of my mind. At the time I was not aware of its presence. I could not know that it would grow enormously over the next few days and I could not know that it would almost destroy my friend's career. But perhaps the most alarming revelation would be that my suspicion towards Holmes was not actually entirely unfounded…

Author's Note

Big thanks to those who have reviewed! You're reponses mean a lot to me, so a huge thank you to you all:D

Sarince: I'm glad you feel that it's Canon, I tried really hard to keep them in character, but sometimes it's hard you know? ;)

stupid-blackcherry: Seriously flattered but I'm no Conan-Doyle! I'm glad you enjoyed the story and I hope that the next few chapters keep you interested! Thanks for reviewing!

Deana: My first reviewer! Thanks for taking the time and effort to make my day, I hope you enjoy this chapter and all the others that come!

FP


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